Sybil pointed at a glass in someone’s hand and asked, “What is that dark liquid that man is drinking?”
Tom followed her finger and found himself grinning; her posh, sheltered upbringing was showing. “Stout, specifically Guinness,” he answered.
Her eyes widened. “Ahhh, so that’s the famous Guinness,” she looked up at him with curious eyes. “Do you drink it?”
“I do,” he told her. “There are few things as fine as a pint of Guinness.”
That seemed to be enough for her. “I’d like one myself.”
His eyes widened at this. “Guinness?”
She nodded. “Yes, I would like a pint of Guinness for myself.”
He looked a bit skeptic. “Are you sure, love? I mean…some would say it’s an ‘acquired taste’.”
“Well, that may be, but how am I ever to know if I don’t try it?”
She had a point, and she knew it too, based on the way she was looking at him, her nose in the air in that mock-haughty way that mimicked her grandmother.
“Maybe should have a sip of mine first? Then decide for yourself—”
But Sybil was adamant. “I don’t see other women ‘daintily sipping’ from their beau’s glasses,” she muttered. “No, I’d like my own pint, please.”
She was serious. And far be it from him to argue with her further. Well, if she didn’t like it, he could always drink it for her, he supposed. “Alright, you win, milady,” he sighed, but giving her a cheeky smile, before turning and ordering them both two pints of the famous stout.
As soon as they had their drinks, they found a table, not too far from the door so that Tom could keep an eye out for Liam, whenever he arrived. Though he couldn’t deny, there was a part of him that wouldn’t mind in the slightest if Liam decided not to come, but then again, that would probably only delay this inevitable meeting.
“A toast, Mr. Branson?” Sybil brought his attention back, and he saw that she had her pint glass lifted, a beautiful smile spreading across her face as she gazed at him. “To the first of many Friday evenings like this.”
He lifted his glass and quickly added, “But only as an engaged couple for so long.”
She blushed but smiled and then clinked her glass with his. Tom watched her as she took her first sip, holding his breath and waiting for a verdict…
“Oh…my…” Sybil sputtered slightly as she brought the glass away, her expression somewhat sour, which only caused Tom to laugh.
“So I suppose Guinness didn’t meet with your approval?” he teased.
She gave him a look, and then much to his surprise (though he shouldn’t have been too surprised—she was stubborn enough to do this sort of thing), she lifted the pint to her lips one more time and took a much larger sip than before, gulping down a good mouthful of the drink.
“I will admit,” she managed to say after a brief cough. “It…it may not be for everyone…” she took another sip, not as long as the last, but drank a healthy dose all the same. “But…it’s not that bad, really.”
Tom threw his head back and practically roared with laughter. Sybil made a face at him and stuck her nose up into the air, but soon she too was grinning and giggling alongside him.
“Sweet Jesus,” he managed to say between chuckles. “If the Dowager Countess could see you now.”
“If PAPA could see me now!” Sybil sighed, shaking her head before taking another sip. “Granny might look shocked, but Papa I think would collapse!”
Yes, Tom had to agree with that. In all seriousness, it was a shame that the Earl of Grantham was unable to see the extraordinary things his daughter was capable of. Sybil was still adjusting to this new life, but she was meeting the challenge with open arms, from helping his mother with cooking and cleaning, to not giving up in her quest to find work, no matter how frustrating it seemed. And she was determined to make Ireland her home, to live amongst the people and adopt their customs, attend mass, and as she was demonstrating right now, drink their drink. Tom couldn’t help but look at her in wonder, and feel his heart lift with every breath. How lucky he was…
Where Tom writes for an Irish Republican newspaper, and who enjoys tinkering and fixing cars for his neighbors and family, while Sybil is a working mother, serving as a nurse and starting to take some courses towards pursuing a career as a doctor. They have three children with a fourth on the way. And while there are times when things are hard and money is scarce, they continue to bet on each other, and life becomes more than just bearable. It’s wonderful.
“Somehow none of it seems to matter when we’re in Dublin. Class and all that just fades away. I’m Mrs Branson and we get on with our lives like millions of others.”
“Since chick lit continues to be a thing, I propose that from this point onwards, all books written by men shall be referred to exclusively as dick lit.
“Have you read John Doe’s new thriller?”
“Eugh, sorry, I don’t read that dick lit trash.”
“I think this author is brilliant!”
“But all he writes are those silly dick lit stories?“”
Musings of a Yankee Countess 